


Doubles Toil in Trouble

by PrioriMori



Category: Dead by Daylight (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Parallel Universes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-04
Updated: 2020-12-04
Packaged: 2021-03-10 00:28:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,503
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27875354
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PrioriMori/pseuds/PrioriMori
Summary: Journalist, photographer, would-be crime novelist; Danni Johnson was well on her way to bigger and better things.None of those things included a cosmic horror deity, repetitive death, or...herself?
Comments: 2
Kudos: 4





	Doubles Toil in Trouble

**Author's Note:**

> I know I have a myriad of projects backed up, but this idea came to mind several weeks ago and its been plaguing me ever since. Obviously not the first to explore this as a concept, however I wanted to contribute towards it as I find it extremely fun and fascinating. I have no plans to make this more than a one-shot, but if the interest is there and I'm caught up with my other stories I may come back to it.
> 
> Thank you for reading!

Had she known her life was to end that Friday night, she would’ve never gone to see _Sleepless in Seattle_. A second showing of _Jurassic Park_ , maybe, but nevertheless it wasn’t her friends’ poor taste in film which landed her in this purgatory of horror. As she left the theater for her apartment a heavy fog began to roll in, unusual for peak summer in Florida. The low visibility should’ve been enough to deter her from taking the scenic route through the park, but she was nothing if not stubborn. Far too stubborn. Could’ve accepted the offer of a ride home instead…

_Would’ve, should’ve, could’ve, Danni._

An eruption of sparks, smoke, and oil hits her back into the present, forcing everyone to recoil from the generator.

“Dammit, Dee! Get yer head out of yer arse,” David hissed in a whisper from the other side.

“Shit, shit, shit, I’m sorry,” she sputtered back, reaching her hand inside the machine to stop the oil leak before it setback their progress.

“We're all gonna be sorry real quick if we don’t get this bloody thing goin’.”

“Less bickering, more working,” Zarina said plainly.

Further grumbling on David’s behalf is easily drowned out by the pumps of the generator rhythmically ringing down the halls of Léry's. The sound mingles in the air with whistling winds pouring in by way of shattered window panes alongside a chill which makes Danni all the more aware of her button-down’s short sleeves. She’s been in this realm twice or thrice before this week already, and it's hastily becoming her least favorite. White, peeling walls barely illuminated by blinking fluorescents remind her of the Roseville Gazette just enough she’d scarcely be stunned if the monster hunting them was her former editor-in-chief.

Between a vanishing bell-ringer, wailing ghost, and cannibal wearing human skin, there’s nothing left in this twisted, other world which can truly frighten Danni. Perchance David’s temper if they manage to get caught before the last generator is completed. After all, the three of them have been turning these on at a record pace since the trial began. And despite a few little mishaps, the lights affixed to their current dynamo flash awake with a triumphant chime. Four down, one to go.

Danni exhales a deep breath as she stands, wiping her greased hands over the front of her jeans. She wishes she’d asked Jake for a spare toolbox if only for the rags he keeps stashed in them. Speaking of, Jake was quite scarce this trial. Danni knows for a fact he’s around here given they completed a generator much earlier on before she met up with David and Zarina. But there hasn’t been a sign of him since, nor the killer for that matter.

Apprehension settles in the back of her throat as a heavy lump she swallows. The false tranquility of this trial leads Danni to believe their chosen foe is the man her companions call the Shape. He’s elusive in nature, stalking from a great distance at first before growing emboldened to strike. There are trials when the Shape does not commit a single sacrifice; killing each and every survivor by his own volition purely for self-satisfaction.

It was _fascinating_ to think about.

Oh, David would have an absolute field day if Danni let slip she derived some matter of enjoyment from these death games. She always did have a more morbid streak as a child, what with her watching all sorts of crime dramas and news stories on murder. Made her good ol’ Christian parents fear for her immortal soul on the daily. In hindsight, they were right about there being a Hell and that she’d find herself there one day. On the bright side, there is a lot less fire and brimstone than she’d imagined.

An additional benefit is the amount of hands-on research these trials provide Danni. It wasn’t every day you could be pitted against notorious murderers or literal monsters then wake up next to a cozy campfire as though nothing happened. Yes, dying was just about as awful and painful as one might imagine, but death itself lacked any real meaning in this realm. No, it was the emotions behind death which held the true power. The dread of being found, the hysteria of the chase, the hope of escape…

It’s hope pushing all three of them onward as they venture towards the treatment theatre. David leads the way, motioning for the ladies to pause as they near the entrance. Zarina touches Danni’s arm, coaxing her to crouch beside her as David peaks his head into the cacophonous room to survey inside. The generator located here was the first to be done, and it continues to rumble with life below a humongous, swiveling display of monitors flashing frightening images.

Although Danni cannot see the interior from her position, David’s expressive face tells her all she needs to know. At first there's confidence, even a twinge of a smirk, but it falters quickly. His eyes have settled on something, and judging by how solemn he becomes, it's nothing good.

“What’s wrong?” she asks.

He clicks his tongue in disdain. “Bloody fuckin’ bastard got Jake.”

Danni’s eyes widen as she jumps up to see for herself. Zarina tries to catch her, but already she’s barreling into the theatre and at Jake’s side in the center. When Danni presses a hand to his cheek, the skin is lukewarm. It’s evident he’s been stabbed several times in the back, rather recently judging from the steady stream of blood flowing into the metal grating of the floor. Jake’s face is frozen in shock, as though he never saw the attack coming.

The level of violence and indication of a surprise attack fits within the modus operandi of the Shape, but…

“You’re goin’ to get yourself killed runnin’ out like that,” David admonishes as he grabs Danni by the arm and drags her back into the shadows. “You might be new ‘round ‘ere, but I’m not cuttin’ you any more slack for actin’ like a barmy sod.”

“David—” Zarina tries to interject.

“No! No more kiddie gloves,” he growls. “Dee needs to get her shite together already.”

Uncomfortable silence befalls them as does palpable tension. The excuse of being freshly picked from the real world has finally worn itself thin, it seems. Danni does not begrudge David’s antipathy, but damn if she’s going to let him get away with treating her like a child. But for Zarina’s sake, she’ll bite her tongue. Just until this trial ends.

“I’m sorry,” she mumbles. “My mind’s just in a fog today, or...I don’t know.”

David raises a brow. “That supposed to be a joke?”

Danni squeezes her eyes shut, visibly wincing at her own involuntary pun. Several times a published journalist and _still_ she can’t channel the words from her head to her mouth correctly. A pinnacle of professionalism as always.

Before Danni can amend her statement, a blotch of white moving behind Zarina captures her attention seconds before it rushes forward. Screams escape them all as a shrouded figure grapples Zarina to the ground, repeatedly perforating her lower back with a slim, silver blade. The stench of copper, hot droplets of red, an elongated white visage gaping its empty, despondent eyes up at her; Danni cannot begin to process any of it as terror holds her in suspension.

She hears David’s footfalls echo in the theatre as he fleas down a different hall. For a brief moment she tears her gaze to follow the fleeting figure of him, but he vanishes as a ripple in a stream. Either he’s left her behind in the momentary panic, or he’s made good on his threat. All the same, Danni’s been abandoned.

_Fuck._

A surge of adrenaline shoots through her veins as a leather glove lunges for her neck, kick-starting the engines of self-preservation. Danni stumbles into a bolt and vaults into the first window she sees. The rubber soles of her sneakers skid on broken tile as she lands in a shower room, skewing her balance. Damn, oil from the generator splashed on her shoes, didn’t it?

Brick and debris littering the institute corridors prove no better than the shards of tile as Danni continues to flee her hunter. She wants to stay in the outer perimeter where it's easier to navigate, but the risk is far more substantial. However, every square foot of this building is so similar it blends together in an enigmatic mess. The theatre and office are the only distinct rooms she can discern from, with the former being slasher central.

Danni is not a gambler, but if Ace was here he’d certainly say the odds were not in her favor. She knows the chances of her dying are exorbitant—accepts them, even—yet those pesky feelings of dogged determination refuse to let her give up. And why should she sacrifice herself for David anyways? Just so he’d get the hatch then use it as ammunition against her trial performance back at camp? Yeah, no way that was happening.

At the corner of adjacent hallways Danni finds several gurneys crammed together; a temporary hiding place to catch a well needed breath. Once crouched behind the makeshift shelter, she decides to utilize her limited time wisely by taking notes. The petite notebook she fishes from her back pocket is indeed nothing special. Still, having it on her person brings small comfort. Its pages are riddled with blue crabbed writing, the majority of it being details she jotted for her novel. The last few entries Danni’s reserved for the sadly sparse information she’s gathered on the Entity and its posse of killers.

Clicking the end of her chewed pen, Danni begins a fresh entry about this new stalker. The only solid clues are their knife and ghastly white mask, which narrows the usual suspects down to two possibilities. They’re too short to be the Shape, so that rules him out. But, they’re too stealthy to be a member of Legion. Her suspect pool depleted to zero, Danni shifts gears and begins to doodle the mask she saw.

Its crescent eyes and drooping mouth remind her a great deal of a cartoonish ghost. Was it a Halloween costume? Uninspired, but she couldn’t fault them for capitalizing on a cheap disguise.

She scribbles the word ‘ghost’ at the top of the page and underlines it.

Then, she looks up.

Danni inhales a sharp gasp as the familiar mask sits inches from her face, cocked on its side lazily and watching attentively. With the killer this close, there’s no room to run. Not that Danni thinks she could anyway, given her entire body has frozen over from shock. The only part of her capable of moving are her quivering hands, which recoil when gloved fingers brush against them. The shrouded figure has taken her notebook and pen, breaking eye contact to write something down.

When her things are presented back to her, Danni hesitantly receives them. She blinks at the killer before glancing at her edited entry. They’ve tacked the word ‘face’ onto ‘ghost’ and circled both.

“Ghost Face?” she reads aloud quizzically.

The Ghost Face gives her a thumbs up which she does not reciprocate. Instead Danni gawks at him, completely at a loss for words. Never in the handful of trials she’s been in had a killer acted so casual. What’s more confusing is _why_ he’s being this informal after unceremoniously stabbing two people to death already. Her expression must mirror his vinyl caricature, because the flat edge of a knife presses her chin up until her teeth click closed.

Danni feels her skin shiver as the tip of the bloodied blade traces her jawline up to her temple. He digs the point deeper until it pricks the epidermis and a thin bead of blood trickles down her cheek. She’s trying desperately not to wince, to not give him added satisfaction, but it's difficult. When he flicks the knife close to her eye she does flinch away, and he laughs coarsely.

She thinks she understands what this game of his is now. A kind of passive psychological torture meant to assert his power over the situation. He’s essentially prolonging the inevitable because he can, which means…

“David’s already dead, isn’t he?”

Ghost Face nods sagely.

A sigh parts Danni’s lips as she brushes a hand through her hair, pushing back her bangs briefly. Rather ironic David got himself killed after breathing down her neck the whole trial Maybe the Entity didn’t appreciate hubris. She’ll give him a hard time about it when they’re altogether at the campfire later, but first—

“Uh, excuse me?” Danni asks dumbly as her bangs are brushed to the side by Ghost Face.

He’s looking at her forehead, or more specifically, at the port-wine stain above her left eye.

Danni furrows her brows in disbelief. “So, what, you’ve never seen a birthmark before?”

The harrowed mask locks eyes with her anew. Although she cannot see his face, Danni can feel the intensity behind Ghost Face’s stare so strongly she cringes away. What’s changed all of a sudden? Was he finally going to kill her? These and several more questions race in her head, distracting from the theft of her notebook. The Ghost Face begins to flip through it aggressively, reading several of the pages until he ends up back at the beginning. Danni is transfixed by the erratic behavior, noting the tremble in his own hands as he gawks at the inside cover. There isn’t much there except her name, why is he so enraptured?

Next thing Danni knows she’s being dragged to her feet as Ghost Face stands abruptly. She tries to fight against his bruising grip, but compared to his freakish strength she’s nothing more than a rag doll. He pulls her along past a number of hooks and rooms, following a faint whistle which grows increasingly loud. Agitation prevented Danni from recognizing the sound as the call of the hatch till they were right upon it.

He was letting her go? After all that? With no explanation?!

“Wait, my notebook!” Danni protests too late as Ghost Face throws her into the foggy abyss.

❈

_What the fuck. What the fuck. What the FUCK!_

Danny paces wildly as he reads the notebooks in his hands simultaneously. They’re identical in almost every way, sparing minor changes in names and locations. Even the Goddamn hand writing is indistinguishable from one another!

He comes to a halt in front of the vanity table, setting the books down before he throws them across the room. His hands are clammy and shaking terribly from some sort of emotion he can’t place. The only question he has is _how?_ Danny thinks the Entity is at fault here, but its whispers won’t tell him anything.

The same hair and eye color, the same birthmark, the same **name**...

Danny sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Shit, I forgot to get a picture.”


End file.
